I also write SportsCentr and contribute to NBA Off-Season, NFL Off-Season, and The World's Game.
Email: mrseankeane (at) gmail (dot) com
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The Shirt Off Sean Keane's Back
“Oh no! Pleeeeeease don’t take the Miller High Life out of here. Whatever will we do? Oh, and pleeeeeease don’t grab those bags of garbage and that rotting deer carcass on your way out.”
LeBron James reading “The Hunger Games”.
Maybe We Should Stop Believing, Warriors
(apologies to Don Nelson & Steve Perry)
“We Believe” Warriors in the NBA currently on Playoff Rosters: Baron Davis, Stephen Jackson, Jason Richardson, Matt Barnes, Al Harrington, Mickael Pietrus, Kelenna Azubuike
“We Believe” Warriors in the NBA not in the playoffs: Monta Ellis, Andris Biedrins
MAYBE THEY PICKED THE WRONG 2….
I thought Josh Powell might be on a playoff roster (he’s not; he’s playing in Puerto Rico), and was surprised to see this as the first sentence of his Wikipedia page:
“For the Utah murder-suicide case, see Disappearance of Susan Powell.”
Meanwhile, Šarūnas Jasikevičius was a Greek Cup champion and MVP this year, and Adonal Foyle’s team made it to the regional finals of the National Poetry Slam.
Happy Mayday!
Drinkers of Boston, unite! You have nothing to lose but your bar tabs!
“4:20” is a dramatic series, presented in real-time, where special agent Jack (Kevin O’Shea) battles against the clock - and his own lack of motivation - with the help of his assistant Chloe (Sean Keane).
Originally premiered at The Munchie Games, 4/20/12.
From the I <3 SF store at Fisherman’s Wharf. Madrid is the only non-SF city represented in all the “I <3 ______” t-shirts, which means that either Spanish people love the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, or these shirts fell off a truck.
The 4/20 warrior carries his endless paraphernalia and trinkets in his various cargo pockets and bags. He also carries bamboo reeds for protection/impromptu drum circles. (Taken with instagram)
On my way to do a nerd show at a comic book store in ventura. This seemed appropriate.
“We live in a world made up of nerds, and those nerds have to be entertained by men with jokes. Who’s going to do do it? You, Kevin Smith? You, Hardwick? You don’t want to the truth because deep down in places you don’t like to talk about on message boards you want me on that stage, you need me on that stage, you wish you could go back and ret-con previous nerd shows so that I was on that stage for years. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps in his mother’s basement under the blanket of comedy that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you gave me an applause break and went on your way. Either way, I don’t give a DAMN what you think about the Avengers trailer.”
“Did you order the Code Red?”
“You’re goddamn right I did! It had a delicious rush of cherry flavor!”
Chevy Chase is fighting with people again blah blah voicemails blah blah imminent firing blah blah painkillers blah blah. Let’s focus on happier times with Chevy Chase, like the time he had Goldie Hawn on his talk show, made everyone sing Happy Birthday to her son Oliver, and then threw his kid’s birthday cake on the ground in front of him.
This was the worst I’ve ever heard the anthem. Worse than Roseanne, because Roseanne was poking fun at the idea of the anthem. There were no jokes here.
It was really painful to experience as a fan of music in general. I had never heard these guys before, but from this song the conclusion must be drawn that they are a label-created band with powerful uncles, and overpriced personal stylists.
The guitarist on the right should burn that thing immediately to put it out of its misery, and start righting the wrongs he has caused with it. He could take up hair modeling for those haircut catalogs you thumb through in SuperCuts.
The drummer…fuck. He looked like he was picked from a crowd of dazed drunks on the sidewalk after last call. He just stood there bouncing that fucking mallet off his drum like it was his limp dick on the side of his leg. The tambourine shook occasionally and unintentionally like door chimes in a back alley bookstore.
Music teachers for years will make their students watch the video of this performance for the same reason that literature teachers make their students read Faulkner or history teachers make their students study Gulf War Syndrome.
“This is what happens when people with bad ideas are in charge. Don’t let this happen to you,” they’ll plead. But the kids won’t listen, their ears will be stunned.
“Why did this happen, Mr. Schrodinger?” “What purpose does this kind of public abuse serve?”
And poor Mr. Schrodinger will have no good answers. He may have some theories written down in pocket-sized notebooks, strewn about his bedroom, but he would never share those in a classroom.
All he can do is show the video, each year, every year, to a new group of young musicians. It will serve first to weed out the weaker in the class.
Like many of the players pictured in the video, some will reject the experience outright. I have to admit that during some moments I lost touch with my own perception of the event and drifted into a mindless, nihilistic state. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct, and extremely difficult to control in moments of duress.
But there is a dawn’s early light at the end of this dark tunnel of nauseating abomination:
Tonight’s bloody disembowelment of the United States’ national anthem by the musical terrorist group The Fray will become a rallying point for those young musicians strong enough to try to understand it.
Kids with talent will get mad as hell, and go straight down to the basement and start playing the shit out of their guitars. They’ll scream “Fuck The Fray” and learn how to actually play their instruments, and play them well.
Important truth from Quirk, especially the stuff about the drummer. Holy shit, that drummer.
(Source: youtube.com)
